In A Time Of Uncertainty

Part Three, Chapter Eight

"I've come to a conclusion," Percy said approximately two seconds after Oliver woke up the following morning. Percy was sitting cross-legged on the floor, several scribbled and discarded balls of parchment lying in a semi-circle around him. "You can't quit Puddlemere. Period. There's no half-convincing explanation I can think of for why you would quit, except the truth; besides, I couldn't possibly let you. We'd both go mad.

"Someone has to do what you can't do while you're at practice. That'll have to be me. Therefore, I need two things: an excuse to stay home and money to make up for the salary I won't be receiving. I can only think of two ways to get the latter. One, we sublet my flat and charge preposterous rent. Second, we sell The Emerald Cloak."

Oliver's mind had been in a hazy state until Percy reached the last sentence. "We can't," he said at once. "That's - no. That book is special to us, Perce. Forget it."

Percy raised his eyebrows. "Are you going to give orders or talk to me like a rational human being?"

"I'm sorry," said Oliver, meaning it. "I really don't want to sell it. Things can't be that desperate."

"How much do you make a year?" Percy asked.

"Sixty-five thousand Galleons."

"Good for a reserve player." He wasn't sensitive about money anymore, Oliver noticed; they were both in the same boat now. "What's the rent on the flat?"

"Twenty-four thousand Galleons a year. Two thousand each month."

Percy stared. "For this place? Not that it's a trash heap, but - "

"It always costs more to live in an all-wizarding neighborhood," Oliver said. "A cousin of mine used to live in Hogsmeade, and she paid sixth thousand five hundred a month." He patted the space on the bed next to him, and Percy came to sit. "We don't need to sell the book, Percy. Really."

"How much do taxes take?"

"Fifteen percent. Nine thousand seven hundred and fifty Galleons per year."

"Which brings us to - I can't do maths in my head." He got off the bed, smoothed out one of the parchment balls, and began to write. "Thirty-one thousand two hundred and fifty. Divided by twelve...two thousand six hundred and four Galleons and a bit each month. About how much do you think we spend on food? Wait, you wouldn't know, I haven't lived here a month." He smiled wryly. "In fact, I've only lived here for...five days?"

Oliver thought. "Maybe a hundred Galleons per month. For food, I mean."

"What about your broomstick? Charlie told me once that professional players have them polished and things like that."

"My dad does it."

"So - " the quill scratched " - two thousand five hundred and four. Think about clothes and soap and all that sort of thing."

"Seventy-five?"

"Ol, that's probably what my entire family spends each month. You've got to be overestimating."

"Probably. I'm rubbish at finances. How about forty?"

"Two thousand four hundred and sixty-four. Is your - our - water bill included in the rent or is it separate?"

"Separate. One hundred and fifty a month."

"Two thousand - no, wait a second, I made a mistake - two thousand three hundred and fourteen." Percy set down his quill and took a deep breath. "Yeah. We'll have to sell the book."

Oliver stared incredulously. "Perce, that's two thousand whatever spare Galleons a month!"

"It isn't," Percy replied. His voice was very calm. "That's one thousand one hundred and fifty-seven Galleons for each of us to put in Gringotts for retirement funds. We haven't taken things like emergencies into account, nothing unexpected. It can't hurt to have some extra money lying around during a war."

"So we'll sublet the flat," said Oliver desperately. They couldn't sell the book.

"The rent on that thing is four hundred Muggle pounds a month. It's tiny, it's cramped, and the people upstairs play loud music every night. So four hundred would go to the landlord, and...I don't even know how to sublet. Do we get something?"

"I think so. After all, we're the ones who are letting them use it."

"All right, let's say we get thirty percent. One hundred and twenty pounds. I don't know the exchange rates, but that can't be much in Galleons."

Oliver closed his eyes and sighed. "Are you positive we haven't got anything else to sell?"

"I haven't."

"I haven't either."

Percy got back onto the bed, slid on top of Oliver, and rested his head on his lover's chest. "I know you don't want to sell it, baby, believe me. But what other choice have we got?"

Oliver opened his eyes. "Since when am I 'baby'?"

"Since you got that really hurt look on your face."

"It's just..." Oliver ran a hand through Percy's hair and wrapped a curl around his fingers. "This is going to sound really, really stupid, but it's like I just realized that we're at war. I mean, until now, what have we done? Paperwork, safe in a flat - important paperwork, granted, but it's not exactly the most dangerous of jobs, is it? We end every day at a certain time; it's been a job, not a way of life.

"But if we have to sell it...then, well, we have to. Can we wait until tomorrow, though?"

"Of course." Oliver felt a soft kiss on his cheek.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

"I wanted to wait to open it until you got home," Percy said that afternoon, the second that Oliver shut the door behind him. He was holding a letter in his hand. "It's from your parents and it's addressed to both of us."

The pounding headache Oliver had had for the past two hours throbbed harder. He had pulled something in his back and each calf muscle felt like an elongated rock; when Penge meant business, he pulled out all the stops. "Can I get a bath first? I apparated home without showering."

"Yeah, go ahead." Percy headed for the bathroom. Oliver wandered into the bedroom and took his dressing gown from the wardrobe.

He heard the rush of water as Percy turned on the taps. "Do you want it warm or hot?"

"As hot as you can get it." Perhaps he would dissolve and not have to think for a few hours.

Percy looked surprised when he saw the dressing gown. "Are you getting ready for bed already?"

"Either bed or a grave. I can't remember the last time I ached so much. In fact, I'm not sure if I ever have."

"I can rub your back when you're done with your bath," he said. "Is it going to be all right?"

"It should be." Oliver pulled his robe over his head. "If not, I'll sue Penge for damages and get lots of money that way."

He let himself soak in the bath until it began to go cold. Percy - who, Oliver realized, had never seen him in physical pain before - became very doting and insisted on helping him into his dressing gown and slippers. They sat on the couch in the sitting room and, after an apprehensive hesitation, opened the letter.

Dear Percy and Oliver,

We would like to start by saying that we were very touched when we read your letter, Percy. We weren't quite sure what to expect when we met you; Michael only had vague memories of you as one of Ol's roommates and I recall you as a quiet sort of boy who usually had a book with him. The thought of Oliver having a new boyfriend was a shock to us; not because of you personally, but because we were so fond of (and, admittedly used to) Ian, and we hadn't thought of them breaking up any time soon.

You've apologized already, and now it's mine (Michael's) turn. I'll start by saying that a lot of things change after you become a father, especially when you only have one child. A son is different than other sorts of relatives. He's a part of you in a way that no one else is; he's literally a part of your blood. In him you can see yourself and your wife, along with things that are solely his own and no one else's.

Anne and I found out shortly after Oliver's birth that we were only going to be able to have one child. We had hoped for at least four, if not five, so it was obviously a large change in plans. I think it's fair to say that I became very protective of him from the time he was quite young. You and he were born in a very tumultuous and dangerous time. I wonder today how those your age would be different had they been raised under different circumstances.

Ol, you've had a lot of challenges that I never foresaw for you. I've got to admit that the possibility of you being gay was something that never even entered my mind. It's an area where I'm unfamiliar, although your mum has been doing a lot of reading and she tells me that it's not so different from being straight in many respects. I'm used to teaching you. This is something you'll have to teach me.

I also never thought that your generation would see the rise of Voldemort - I was one of those who was nearly positive he was gone for good and no longer a concern. To be perfectly honest, you've sprung a lot of surprises on us in the last few months. First you told us you had joined the Order, then that you had broken things off with Ian, finally that you had a new boyfriend mere days afterward. Hopefully you can understand how I'm still processing it all.

I have a confession to make, Percy: I have friends in the Ministry and I inquired as to your history there. I hope you will forgive me when I tell you that it made me understand your anger towards Michael more than I initially did. Nothing can be more frustrating than seeing others made the same mistake that disrupted your life. You and Oliver have obviously been under a lot of stress that his father and I haven't, although we have been under a different sort of strain knowing that his life is potentially in danger.

When you brought up the Order, Percy, you were trying to find out who we were by discovering how we would react. I'm sorry I showed you a more cowardly side of my nature.

Here I'd like to say that I don't find it cowardly so much as ignorant.

Ol, we're happy that you have someone who cares so much about you. We hope this letter has mended any rift between us and that both of you will answer it as soon as possible.

Love, Anne - Mum, and Michael - Dad